30 May 2009



Underarm deodorant is no
more admission you reek      
than time spent combing
remnants of once abundant 

locks proposes you are 
really Narcissus 

But it won't deter sideline
critics observing the same;
somewhere along the road
you stepped on a few toes
bruised a few fragile egos

It wasn’t always that way

Between collapsed edifices 
and somewhere concealed 
beneath piled underwear
discards your long shadow
still casts an aura of doubt –
fuels eclectic debate

Like the milk and honey
infused in scented soap,
an all-pervasive unease
lingers to comfort you 

anonymously - and what 
if its actually right?
© 14 March 2009, I. D. Carswell